


A Secret Wedding

by klarolinedrabbles



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x06 hard rewrites, Arya and Gendry actually having a feels talk, Bran the Cryptic, D&D can meet me in the parking lot at 3 o'clock, F/M, Gendry and Mya the comical siblings Duo, Ser Davos wondering when these youngins are gonna let him nap, a huge FU to select moments in the final season, because fuk da police, because they deserved one, finale fix it, ft a Sansa POV where she sparkles like god intended, oooooops????, so I'm gonna give them one, supposed to go up for A x G day two but it got away from me, the one-shot in which Arya talks about her journey with death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 20:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20346139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klarolinedrabbles/pseuds/klarolinedrabbles
Summary: Gendry finds Arya after she makes it out of King's Landing post-collapse, and after some MUCH needed rest on her part, they partake in a very necessary and lengthy talk. AKA, the one-shot where Gendry and Arya reveal at the council session that surprise, they're married! 8x06 overhaul, I changed literally everything. Intended for A x G week; day two, the 'marry me now' prompt.





	A Secret Wedding

The smoke in the air was making it difficult to keep her head clear. And the wound to her head, the second in the past month, certainly wasn’t making it any better. 

Arya struggled to keep her grasp on the mane of the horse she was seated upon.

A single living creature amidst the rubble---a beacon. 

Sighing in relief when the wind blew away some of the smoke in front of her, the charred gates to the city now in her sight.

Without a saddle she slipped right off the horse when it halted. Taking a moment to inhale cleaner air, Arya’s eyes adjusted to the sight before her, ignoring the agonizing ache in her skull. 

It was difficult to discern who was who amongst all the chaos, she didn’t know how many of the Northmen managed to get out, if Jon was even one of them. 

Turning her head towards the city that almost accomplished what it started the last time she’d been there, she breathed heavily, taking in the gaps of sky where the tall pillars of the Red Keep used to be. 

_ You come with me, you die here. _

She recalled, she’d known it was true the moment the words left his lips, but she’d made her peace with that fact long before he ever said it, or so she thought. 

“Arya?” A trembling voice called out, a voice she’d know anywhere, and one she thought she’d never hear again. 

Whirling herself around as quickly as she could without succumbing to the limits from her pain, she gasped at the sight of him. 

_ You think you've wanted revenge a long time? I've been after it all my life; it's all I care about. And look at me---LOOK AT ME! You want to be like me? _

Looking at Gendry in front of her, and whisking back around to stare at where the Red Keep once stood. 

_ No_, she thought to herself, _ she didn’t _. 

Accepting that realization did something to her. It cracked open the dam she built around her heart, the one that spoke for her when she turned down his proposal, having known no easier way to spare someone the pain that would’ve followed the demise she was so sure she’d meet. It brought forward everything she’d been refusing to feel since she made it back to Winterfell. 

It hadn’t dawned on Arya that when she changed course and returned to Winterfell instead of continuing on towards King’s Landing, that she didn’t just lose that one battle with herself, but she lost the war. 

Nothing had been as simple as she’d strained to make it since then. And it was that very strain that snapped right then and there.

Choking back a sob, Arya threw herself into Gendry’s stunned, but ready arms. 

She gripped his leather in her hands tightly, certain she’d make a few tears. 

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, her face buried in his neck, not knowing if anyone had taken notice of them, or if anyone even cared. 

Gendry’s arms tightened around her waist, letting out a scoff right next to her ear. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” He replied, his body tensing once his leathers became damp. He leaned back to grasp her forearms, gently pushing her out in front of him so he could get a good look.

“Hey,” he gently spoke, bringing his hands up to cup her face. 

The tears were now falling freely down her face, coupled with the blood that was drying on her skin, she knew she painted quite the picture. 

“I’m---” she tried to speak, although nothing felt right enough to say. 

Gendry’s thumbs were wiping away her tears, his forehead gently pressed to hers, careful not to put any pressure on her wound. 

“It’s alright.” He tried, never having tried his luck with consoling anyone, let alone her. 

Arya sobbed, her head shaking vigorously, ignoring once more the pain. 

“It’s not.” She said forcefully, regaining her voice. “None of _ this _ is alright!” She yelled, flinging her arm out towards the wreckage behind them. A forceful approach that she regretted once it took an immediate toll on her.

Gendry’s eyes softened, despite becoming increasingly aware that she was holding on by a single thread. 

Only a moment passed before Arya swayed gently in his arms, her effort to conceal it not going unnoticed by him. 

Stepping forward, Gendry wrapped one arm around her waist, the other reaching around to hold her hand as he lead them towards the camps. 

“Where do you think you’re taking me?” She questioned, relenting and leaning into his hold. 

“To my tent.” He replied immediately. “You need to be seen by a maester, Arya, you can barely stand.” 

Arya scoffed, tearing her hand out of his grasp, causing her to stumble. 

Wearily glancing towards him she tried to not be angry over his amused smile, before taking his hand in hers. 

“_ Your _ tent, hm?” She said after a while, ignoring the stares of everyone they passed. 

“Turns out being a Lord’s got it’s advantages.” 

Before she could reply, she noticed the change in banner’s as he continued to lead her through. The bright golden flags adorned with black stags flapping proudly in the wind. 

She heard Gendry mutter words to someone, too dazed to catch what they were. 

After a few more paces, Gendry pulled open the curtain of a tent, a chuckle escaping him at the sight of a soot-covered man standing in the center. 

“Ser Davos!” He greeted excitedly. “I’m glad you made it out.” 

“Jon?” Arya asked, before the man could utter another word. 

Davos lowered his eyes shamefully, the nerves visible on his face. 

“Waiting to speak with Daenerys, I expect she’ll be making her victory speech to the city soon.” He revealed, much to her horror. 

“And _ what _ city would that be? She burned the whole thing to the ground.” She gritted out, her grip on Gendry’s hand tightening. “She’ll be making her speech to her army, you mean.”

“We can’t worry about that right now.” Gendry tried to calm her, producing the opposite effect. 

Tearing herself away from his grasp once more, Arya took a step back. 

“The hell we can’t!” She yelled, turning around and stepping out of the tent, only making it a couple paces before a wave of dizziness washed over. 

She immediately hunched over, emptying the contents of her stomach. 

Davos and Gendry were right behind her, the latter placing a soothing hand on her back, easing her till she finished. 

“_ Arya _,” Gendry stressed. “You need to rest, don’t make me argue with you.” He voiced, gently guiding her back into the sent, ignoring the bewildered look on Davos’ face. 

“Find Jon, don’t let him do anything stupid.” She spoke slowly to Davos, her breath exiting her in pants as she placed her head on Gendry’s shoulder. “There’s something he ought to tell you, something that puts him in danger here, especially now that we know what Daenerys is capable of.” She continued, wondering just how much Jon’s closest advisor knew of the delicate position her brother was in. 

Davos looked at her in confusion, helping Gendry place her on the cot at the far end of the tent.

“And what would that be, Lady Arya?” He asked, tossing a worrisome glance at Gendry. 

Arya felt her eyes fluttering shut, but she willed them to open for just a moment longer. 

“I swore not to tell,” was all she muttered, her eyes finally closing in exhaustion as she welcomed the deep sleep she fell into. 

* * *

Gendry treaded forcefully into his tent, startling the short-haired girl in trousers and a jacket that sat by Arya’s bedside. 

His sister, Mya. 

Lady Sansa had mentioned her to him the day Daenerys’ armies began their journey south, that she’d met her when Littlefinger hid her in the Vale. As one of six siblings, Sansa had told him how important family was to people of their position, makes big castles like theirs feel less lonely.

Gendry had ordered for someone to send word to Mya right away, inviting her to meet him in Storm’s End, along with another bastard belonging to Robert Baratheon. 

Edric Storm.

His half-brother, along with their sister, had the better fortune to have been recognized by their father all their lives, unlike him. 

Ser Davos had mentioned knowing that Renly fostered him in Storm’s End, and that when Stannis arrived in the Stormlands to burn the godswood and claim dominance over his family’s lands, he’d searched for him. But Renly was rumored to have been smarter than people gave him credit for, and despite Stannis’ claim to only have need of the boy to prove the illegitimacy of Cersei’s children, Renly had arranged to have Edric hidden somewhere in the Stormlands even before he met his death. 

Having first set foot in the Stormlands almost a month ago, with Ser Davos’ help, it hadn’t taken much effort to find his brother, who’d been stowed away in the homes of one of his bannermen should their have ever been use for him. 

Unluckily for Edric, Gendry was in the right place at the right time, and got put to use first. 

Thankfully, his younger brother hadn’t taken it to heart, more than open to the idea that they coexist in Storm’s End as family. 

And it’s Edric whom Gendry left in charge of the seat upon a cliff whilst he finished what Daenerys ordered him to do, and rallied whatever remained of House Baratheon’s armies to her cause. 

He’d arrived once the attack was well underway and ordered his men to stay put. 

Mya had insisted on accompanying him to King’s Landing, she’d reached Storm’s End only a fortnight ago. Ser Davos having stayed with him for just a week, needing to meet Jon in Dragonstone before they sailed to King’s Landing together with the Northern army. Needless to say, Gendry was grateful for the company. 

Lady Sansa had been right, having siblings helped. 

Although he wondered if she would have been inclined to offer him any advice if she knew his history with her only sister. 

And it was that sister now, nestled under layers of furs, that took his breath away. 

Arya had been asleep for nearly four days now. 

On the second day, a large wolf prowled through the camps, all the men too shocked to have tried anything against it. It was clear the wolf was on a trek towards _ his _ army’s encampment, and by the seven’s grace, Jon and Ghost were around to identify it. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever fully understand the bond between the Starks and their direwolves, but this new one, that was twice the size of Ghost, belonged to Arya. 

Gendry remembered hearing of her from Arya when she first shared who he was. 

_ Nymeria. _

The giant direwolf’s tag wailed once she caught sight of him entering the tent. 

He couldn’t explain it, but there was a certain...understanding between him and the large beast. 

She hardly ever left Arya’s side, always vigilant, always protecting her mistress whilst she could not protect herself. The few times Nymeria had left the tent, to relieve herself or stretch her legs, it was only ever when Gendry was present. 

As though he’s the only person the wolf trusted Arya’s care with. 

He had been hesitant at first to go near the wolf, but like Arya, Nymeria doesn’t do well with patience, so she trotted right up to him and nuzzled his hand till he felt comfortable petting her. 

The direwolf was now a very comforting presence to Gendry, knowing all the strength Arya must be gaining with her near. 

Leaning down to scratch behind Nymeria’s ears, Gendry moved towards his sister, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“Mya,” he greeted. “Any change?” He asked, not a shred of guilt over Arya occupying the majority of his thoughts even with all that was occurring outside. 

She smiled amusedly, standing up to rearrange Arya’s furs, leaving the stool at her bedside open for him. 

“All is the same, just as the last time you asked a few hours ago.” She said. 

“I can’t help it, I’m---”

“Worried, I know.” She interrupted. 

She did that a lot---interrupting---Gendry couldn’t help but think she and Arya would get along well once she woke up. 

_ If she woke up. _

Gendry sighed angrily, refusing to listen to that nagging possibility conjured up by his own mind. 

“I worry about you too, you know? Gendry, when’s the last time you slept properly? You can’t go on like this, you’ll drive yourself mad.” She spoke forcefully, in the few days they’ve known each other, she hadn’t been one to hold back even an ounce. 

“I wouldn’t be sleeping well even if Arya _ was _ awake. I find it difficult to sleep in conditions as well-off as these, when there’s hundreds outside without a thread of cloth to their names.” He spat out angrily, not being one to so easily forget the state King’s Landing was left in.

His old home, nothing but rubble and ash. 

And the people whom’s duty it was to get everything in order, couldn’t stop quarreling amongst themselves long enough to decide a damn thing. 

“How was the council session?” His sister treaded carefully, knowing that his involvement in such matters were a touchy subject for him. 

“I’ve been in physical fights less tiring than those sessions.” He grumbled, no love lost for one of his new responsibilities in life as Lord Baratheon. 

“And when is Lord Tyrion to be executed?” She questioned further, lazily pacing around the tent, sparing Arya a glance every few steps to make sure she didn’t miss any movement. 

Gendry groaned.

As if getting things in order wasn’t hard enough, there was also _ that _matter to attend to.

Shortly after he’d found Arya, Tyrion murdered Daenerys in the throne room, not being able to look at her for another moment after finding his siblings bodies buried under the wreckage in the red keep. 

Despite owing everything he now owns to Daenerys Targaryen, after walking through King’s Landing he could honestly say that when he’d heard what happened---he wasn’t surprised. 

It was Jon’s reaction that was the hardest to read, and getting harder by the day. 

The eldest Stark was solemn, dazed, yet a commanding presence in all the meetings they’ve had so far. He stops by to check on Arya three times a day, not having carved out the time yet to corner Gendry into revealing why it was _ his _ tent he had to visit his sister in. 

An explanation he was dreading having to give, knowing he’s likely to get asked for it more than once. Ser Davos and Mya had beat all the Starks to it, the both of them pouncing on him the very second Maester Jurne left the tent that first day. 

“Once all the Lord and Lady’s arrive, Sam’s sent all the raven’s, now all we have to do is wait.” He revealed. “Lady Sansa and Bran will take the longest to get here, about a month. Jon tells me they’ll ride down to the Riverlands, where their uncle is the Lord, and await the arrival of their cousin, the Lord of the Vale and then ride down here together.” 

“Not the brightest that one, the Lord Arryn.” She quipped. “So the Starks control half the country?” She pondered out loud.

Gendry winced, knowing he wouldn’t be able to explain it as properly as Jon had. 

“Not...exactly. I don’t understand it much myself, Jon laid it out for me but I didn’t follow. There were other things on my mind.” 

“Like his sister?” Mya edged. 

Gendry sighed heavily, leaning forward in his seat.

“Mya…” he cautioned. 

His older sister threw her hands up in surrender. 

“Alright fine, but one day, Gendry Baratheon, I will get you to talk.” She countered, determined as the day he met her. 

“I’ll talk when she does.” He replied, switching his gaze towards the sleeping brown-haired woman that has occupied his thoughts for more years than he’d ever admit. 

“She will.” Mya assured him, and he wanted nothing more than to believe her. 

* * *

Arya opened her eyes slowly, a blurriness to her sight for the first few moments after doing so. 

She tried to move and was irritated when she realized she couldn’t. Wiggling all her limbs as much as she could, ruling out the cause being any injury, she noticed that she was tucked in tightly under a mountain of furs. 

“Give your body a few moments to wake up.” A sharp voice called out to her, snapping her out of the dozen thoughts circulating her mind. 

Arya turned towards the voice, eyes narrowing at the sight of a tall, black-haired girl. But it wasn’t that which surprised her the most, it was the wolf that sat beside her.

A wolf she more than recognized. 

“_Nymeria _.” Arya called out softly, not believing her eyes. 

The large wolf stood, towering over the unnamed girl who sat on a stool, and pressed her nose into Arya’s hair. She felt silly for the tears that slid down her cheeks, but it wasn’t every day she gets reunited with her dearest friend. 

“She’s been by your side for days, that’s a smart girl you’ve got for yourself.” The girl spoke once more, reminding Arya of her presence. 

“And you are?” She questioned, not appreciating waking up more confused than when she went down. 

The girl held her head high, a warm smile on her face. 

“Mya.” She simply replied. “I’m Gendry’s half-sister.” She clarified, much to Arya’s shock. 

Arya studied her carefully, admiring how firmly she presented herself, and how at ease Nymeria appeared to have been in her presence. 

“Well then, Mya, do you mind removing all these furs? If I don’t get up to piss, I’ll flood this whole camp.” 

Mya snorted, getting up to lift the layers from on top of her. 

“I should send for Maester Jurne, and for your brother, as well as mine. Those two have been quite the attentive pair, although perhaps not as much as Nymeria.” She said affectionately, offering her hands for Arya to grip. 

“Find him for me, will you?” Arya directed at Nymeria, knowing there was no need to specify. 

Nymeria whined softly and hesitated to leave, which didn’t go unnoticed by Arya. 

“It’s okay, girl. I’ll be fine with Mya.” She eased, accepting Mya’s help in sitting up, which seemed to be enough for the wolf as she trotted off, searching for the person at the forefront of Arya’s mind. 

Just as Arya was about to thank Mya for her help, what the girl had said just a few moments earlier clicked.

“Wait,” she told her, not letting Mya help her stand. “You said Nymeria’s been by my side for _ days _?” She realized in shock. “How many?” 

Mya hesitated to answer her, a weary look in her eyes. 

“_ How many days? _” She asked again, her breathing growing heavier. 

“Four.” Mya replied, knocking the wind right out of her. 

_ Gods_.

Four days, that was a long time in situations like theirs. _ It was too long _. 

The realm could be in double the chaos by now, her brother could be dead, _ she _ could’ve been dead. 

Mya sensed Arya’s panic and crouched down to her level, a firm grasp on her hands. 

“There’s much you need to be told of, but know that everyone you hold dear in this city is safe.” She said, easing the most troublesome worries coursing through her head. “Nymeria should return any minute, allow me to help you so I can send for the maester. I’ll explain everything while we wait.” She pleaded, smiling when Arya nodded in agreement. 

Nodding was all Arya could muster when the only thing she could think of was Mya’s earlier words. 

_ There’s much you need to be told of. _

If Mya noticed Arya’s shudder, she didn’t mention it. 

* * *

“We’re not giving Highgarden to Ser Bronn.” Jon said, exasperated at him needing to say it at all.

“I don’t see why not, he was loyal to my family, proving him capable and was knighted after the Battle of Blackwater.” Tyland Lannister spoke freely, no shame whatsoever for the image his House has after recent events. 

“Your family’s reign of Westeros was overthrown, in case you hadn’t realized.” Gendry said calmly. 

“And it was someone from _ my _ family who killed the Queen responsible. Some might say my family’s reign was overthrown for a mere couple of hours before Tyrion’s actions claimed it back.” 

Gendry looked towards Jon, noticing just how tightly his fists were clenched. 

House Stark’s history with House Lannister as of now was long and bloody. Jon had emerged as the leader amongst these council sessions, having the most experience leading as well as possessing both the tough and gentle heart that was required of someone to do it well. 

It’s been four agonizing days of this type of talk, and each day that passed, Gendry admired Jon more. 

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do by securing the Reach in your family’s favor, and I assure you, it will be addressed when we meet with a full council. And I say the same to you about who will get Highgarden, we’ll decide that in a month’s time, not a day sooner.” Jon forcefully concluded, nodding to Ser Davos so he’d move on to the next task. 

Looking towards the last remaining Lannister, sitting frigidly in his seat, Gendry couldn’t help the smirk on his face at the sight of him. He could only be a few years older than him, but he’d known he was trouble the day he let eyes on him. He was the type of noble that Gendry grew up to despise in life. 

And it was that type of nobility that he’d strive every day to make sure he never turned into. 

Before he re-centered his focus into the matters being discussed by Ser Davos, Gendry felt a presence looming quickly in the small council chambers. 

His stomach became a knot of nerves at the sight of Nymeria running straight towards him. 

Standing up before the wolf even reached him, tossed his chair back with a loud scrape against the floor. 

Nymeria began prodding against the back of his knees, pushing him until he started walking. 

“Gendry---” he heard Jon call out, not bothering to stay and hear the rest because he sprinted off, keeping up with Nymeria as best he could through the deconstructed city, and then through the camps.

The Small Council chambers were a great distance from the camps, but Gendry ran anyway, breathing heavily by the time he reached the gates. 

He ignored the hundreds of eyes that looked his way as he frantically raced through three Great House’s encampments, including his own. 

Gendry didn’t slow down till he saw Mya standing outside his tent. 

She caught sight of him and her eyes widened, emitting a chuckle shortly after. 

“_Gendry _, you look crazed, did you run all the way here from the Red Keep?” She chastised, a habit he’d noticed that came frustratingly easy to her.

“Is she alright?” He breathed out, finally able to catch his breath. 

Mya rolled her eyes, but not bothering to hide the amused look on her face. 

“Of course she is, who do you think ordered Nymeria to go fetch you?” She revealed. “Although if I’m being earnest, I wasn’t exactly sure who Nymeria would be leading back here. Arya told her to go ‘find him’ without a name or direction. I understand now, your confusion about the animals.” 

Gendry’s heart fluttered at his sister’s words, sparing the loyal wolf another glance. 

“How is she?” He asked nervously. 

“Sore, but well. Maester Jurne is in there with her now, conducting an examination.” She revealed, biting her lip as though she was refraining from saying more. 

He looked at her expectantly, his gaze hard and unyielding. 

“I told her how long she’s been asleep, and everything that’s happened, she’s rather overwhelmed.”

Gendry groaned softly, knowing how much more difficult this would be now. He hoped he’d be able to ease Arya into all the things that have happened. Her words right before she fell unconscious being at the very top of that list. When she’d uttered them, he and Ser Davos had no inkling of what she was talking about. 

Tyrion’s imprisonment changed that. Desperate men will reveal just about anything to stay alive. 

Jon was the true heir to the Seven Kingdoms, the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, and after Daenerys’s death---the last Targaryen left in the world. 

A secret that Gendry would’ve kept had Jon asked him to, but it was too late, Tyrion, and Jon’s siblings were not the only ones who knew. Varys knew as well and judging by the ravens that arrived from all the Great Houses, he’d done his job of whispering _ too _ well and informed every Great House of the truth.

It’s what Daenerys executed him for. 

Taking a deep breath, Gendry opened the flap to his tent, Nymeria following him inside. 

It was interesting, being so sure something would happen, yet just as surprised when it actually does. 

The sight of Arya awake and responsive gave him more joy than he knew the words for. But it was perhaps the smile she had for him that despite how she left his heart when they last saw each other in Winterfell, truly filled it with warmth. 

He’d been avoiding thinking of it for too long. 

What he’d asked of her in the grain storage of Winterfell was nothing short of disastrous. The words he’d chosen were one’s he both stood by and regretted. 

“Do you plan on standing there all day?” Her sharp voice called out to him, smiling when he scoffed at her words. 

“I doubt Nymeria would allow it on your behalf.” He replied, looking down towards the large wolf whose nose was pressing against his lower back.

Maester Jurne stood promptly upon realizing who had entered the tent, the Maester from the Stormlands bowing gently before him. 

“My Lord,” he greeted, stepping away from Arya, who somehow looked even smaller. 

Gendry was surprised that she looked as calm as she did, knowing how Arya wasn’t one to sit still for long.

“Should I be concerned that you haven’t attempted to race through the camp?” He teased, trying to ease his own nerves and diffuse any awkwardness that was sure to be lingering between them.

“She did!” A muffled voice called out to him from outside the tent. 

“Your sister is a traitor.” Arya grumbled, more amused than genuinely annoyed. 

Gendry felt a small amount of the weight on his shoulders lift hearing that Arya was already aware of who Mya was. One less thing to explain. 

Gendry didn’t miss the way Maester Jurne’s gaze shifted between the two, a question that he’d never dare ask on the tip of his tongue. 

He was beginning to get antsy, wanting nothing more than to wrap Arya in his arms. 

“How is she?” He asked the Maester simply, hoping to speed the process along.

But he should’ve known that things with Arya are never simple. Not that he minds. 

“_ She _ is fine, although unjustly confined to this bed like an invalid which I don’t appreciate.” Arya snarked, much to Gendry’s amusement. 

Maester Jurne gulped, both overwhelmed by Arya’s blunt nature, and nervousness over being the cause of her ire. 

“I merely advised to Lady Stark that she remain in bed for one more day of rest, just to be sure her body recovers properly.” He said to Gendry, nervously glancing between the two. 

Gendry nodded, taking his advice very seriously. 

“Understood. I will ensure she gets it.” He said firmly, wishing his voice sounded as strong as he intended for it to. 

“Very good, my Lord. With your permission,” he bowed again, smiling when Gendry gestured towards the front of the tent for him to leave. 

Looking down, Gendry made sure to properly step over Nymeria who was laying flat on the ground next to the bed. Taking a seat on the edge, he wasted no time in pressing his forehead to hers, inhaling deeply.

He’d gently washed her that first day he found her, but she must have washed up before he arrived, smelling of lavender. 

Arya’s small hands reached up to cup his neck, keeping him pressed to her, not that he minded. 

“So, do you no longer object to being Lady Stark, or were you just too tired to argue?” He jested, hoping he didn’t sound upset with her choice of words back in Winterfell, for it wasn’t his intention. 

She smiled sadly, blinking back a tear. 

“If I’d have said another word to him, I think I would’ve scared him off for good.”

Gendry laughed, pressing a kiss to her nose, his heart skipping a beat when she closed her eyes to relish it. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, his thumb rubbing a soothing motion on her cheek. 

“Like I was almost killed in a collapsing city.” She tried to make light, but her voice wavered, making her fears known. 

“Aye, I reckon you could’ve been.” He agreed, trying not to back down from acknowledging how reckless she was in coming here. 

Arya swallowed harshly, the tears she’d blinked away just a moment ago resurfacing. 

“I came really close.” She revealed to him, not bothering to hide the trembling of her bottom lip. 

Gendry was finding it hard to look at her, so shaken and afraid, without feeling an immeasurable amount of anger. Gone was the girl who threw daggers made of dragonglass at a post behind his head, feeling so confident in how well she knew death. 

“You’re thinking of what I told you in the forge of Winterfell.” She said softly, gently pulling him out of his thoughts with the truth, her hands still cupping his neck. 

_ I know death, It has many faces. I’m looking forward to seeing this one. _

“I think...since the day my father was killed, death was something that kept following me. At Harrenhal we saw death every single day.” She said, his stomach churning when he remembers how close he came to dying there. “It was everywhere I went, starting with him---with my father.” She began, wiggling over as much as she could without wincing. 

Gendry took the hint and moved so he could lay down beside her, gathering her in his arms. Arya moved to lay on her side, giving him more room, eventually choosing to rest against his chest, her arms propping her head so she had a good view of him. 

“Yoren is the reason I didn’t actually _ see _ him die.” She revealed, surprising him. It had never occurred to him to ask how Yoren got ahold of her. “He knew my family well, it’s how he found me in the crowd during the execution. He held me to his chest so tightly I could only move enough to look up at the sky. When I saw the crows, I knew it was done.” She continued, her voice wavering once more. “And right after that I met _ you _.” 

Gendry froze and looked down at her. 

“I realized that day just how cruelly the god’s toy with our lives.” She spoke again, her eyes reminiscent almost in awe. 

“What do you mean?” He prodded gently, careful not to say too much, nor push her too hard out of fear she’d close back up. What she was doing now, talking, he reckoned it’s something she’s been avoiding for the god’s know how long. And if she was doing so now, it was because she felt needed to, and he’d do whatever it took to ease her into finishing. 

“The same day the god’s took my father, they gave me you.” She answered him promptly, no hesitation in her recollection of that day. 

His heart sank. 

It was an unfair trade, he thought. For all his resentment towards the nobility, it was clear Arya _ loved _ her father, and he could only imagine the type of man he was to have such adoration from her. Grateful as he may be to have Arya in his life, if the cost was the loss of her father, the root of all her pain, he’d prefer they had never crossed paths at all. 

“A shit trade if I ever heard one.” He said.

Arya’s eyes widened, lifting her head from the top of her hands so she could lightly tap him with one. 

“Don’t be stupid, that’s not how I think of it.” She argued. “Think of it as a compromise. A hardship in my life, softened by someone else.” 

Gendry smiled at that, the knowledge that she saw his presence in her life with such clarity doing unspeakable things to him inside. 

“After that it was Yoren, yeah?” He asked, hoping this unexpected moment in her talk didn’t deter her from saying everything she needed to. 

She nodded, resuming her place on his chest, her fingers gliding over his leathers. 

“Then Lommy. And then---” she began, taking a deep breath. “When the red witch took you, I thought you dead as well. After that it was Robb and my mother.”

“When I made it back to King’s Landing, that’s all anyone was talking about. I thought you’d perished there, you know.” He revealed, squeezing her to him thankful that she hadn’t. 

“I almost did.” She replied sadly. “The Hound and I got there just as it started. I had found the kennel that was holding Robb’s direwolf, he’d been howling and scratching at the door, probably knew what was happening before I did. Then some men walked right up to the kennel and fired arrows inside until he was dead. After that I tried to race inside but The Hound stopped me, hit me on the head. He developed a habit of it after that, keeping me alive.”

Gendry listened attentively, feeling her tense up in his arms. 

“When I woke up, the camp’s were already on fire and any men sworn to my family’s cause were either dead or on the run. I didn’t see what happened to my mother, they say her throat was cut and that they threw her body in the river.” She kept going, each word harder than the last. “And my brother, I saw what they did to him. I’ll never forget it.” The tears were falling freely down her cheeks now.

He swallowed roughly, understanding what she was trying to explain to him. 

“So you stayed with The Hound?” He asked curiously. 

“Didn’t have much of a choice.” She grumbled. “He was taking me to the Vale, to my Aunt Lysa, was going to try his luck by randoming me there. But when we arrived, the guards told us she’d just died.” 

Gendry looked at Arya in shock, wondering how she held herself together after that. To have experienced that many deaths in such a short amount of time, that would break anyone. 

“Then I was _ truly _ stuck with The Hound.” She started again, a smirk on her face at the memory. “We came across some Frey soldiers before we got to the Vale, practically singing a song about what they did to Robb. The Hound killed most of them, but I got one. I was so sick of seeing death from one side that I just---stabbed. Over and over, even after he was already dead, I couldn’t stop.” 

“It finally felt fair.” He noticed out loud. 

Arya nodded, shifting against his chest so she was closer to his head. 

“I’ll spare you more details on The Hound, but Brienne left him in a pathetic state. He wanted me to kill him.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

She shrugged, her gaze mischievous.

“I’d been stuck with him for a while, he was on my list and I wanted him to suffer for it. It’s a good thing I didn’t, I suppose. It was his words that convinced me not to go after Cersei and get out of the city. Like I said, the gods are cruel.” 

Gendry gasped, not expecting him being who she travelled here with. It was then that he realized something.

“Did you mean to die here, Arya?” He asked, afraid to hear her utter the words, already knowing the answer.

Arya did him the honor of looking him right in the eye when she nodded. 

“What I told you back in Winterfell about knowing death,” she continued, regaining his attention from the shock of her confirmation. “I had it all wrong.” She admitted, shocking him even further. “I chose to go to Braavos to train, to become one of the faceless men, someone whose job it was to _ kill _. I saw death so much that I---”

“You tried to _ become _ death.” He finally pieced together.

“_ Yes _.” She confirmed, exhaling loudly, as though the very truth of that was weighing her down. 

However furious he was with how little she valued her life, he understood. 

“Being in the city when it fell, when Daenerys destroyed it and all the people with it, I realized _ that’s _ what death is. And that’s not me.” She admitted. 

Gendry’s grip on her faltered at those words, remembering too well the last time she’d said them. It was wishful thinking to expect Arya not to notice. 

“Gendry---” she tried, jolting against him when he interrupted her.

“Look, no explanation necessary, I mean it. You don’t owe me one, and I---” He argued, the words dying in his mouth as Arya pressed her lips to his. 

He moaned softly, his fingers moving to thread through her hair. 

The kiss was slow and forceful, just as their last one had been. 

Arya deepened the kiss, moving her body so she laid directly on top of him. 

It was Gendry who pulled back first, knowing there was more conversation to be had. 

Pressing a soft kiss to her lips, he rested his forehead against hers again while trying to catch his breath. 

“I love you.” She whispered, smiling at the shock clear on his face. 

Gendry muttered under his breath, wondering how one person can manage to surprise him so much in a single conversation. 

Looking at her now, saying those words, gods he loved her. 

“I should’ve told you when you said it in Winterfell but I was...afraid. I was afraid of feeling everything I trained not to feel anymore, of a life I thought I wouldn’t want for myself.” She said, hesitating before continuing. “One I believed I wouldn’t live long enough to get.”

She wound up leaving him more confused than before. 

“What are you saying?” He asked in a daze. 

Arya smirked, a _ dangerous _ glint to her eyes. 

“I’m saying,” she began, “that I want you to marry me now.”

Gendry was sure he heard her wrong.

“You’re not serious.” He uttered, completely bewildered. “_ Now?! _”

Arya laughed.

“Not right this second, but soon. Before the council forms in a month.” She offered.

He opened his mouth several times and closed it just as much, knowing no words would suffice. 

“Arya, you don’t have to do this.” He pleaded. “When I asked you to be the Lady of Storm’s End it was a mistake. I know who you are, just like I know who you’re not.”

Arya’s eyebrows raised, a bemused look on her face. 

“Then you know that I rarely say things I don’t mean.” She challenged, head held high. 

“I---”

Before he could answer her, Davos whisked into the tent, freezing at the sight of them wrapped in each other’s arms. 

Arya moved to rest on her knees beside him, looking bright and at ease when Davos bowed to them. 

“Ser Davos.” She greeted. “ I trust you’ve been keeping my brother safe in my absence.” 

Gendry refused to meet the gaze of the man who’d given him so much, worried he’d take issue with the state he found them in. 

“As best I could.” He assured her, not missing the movement of one of Arya’s hands moving to grip his. “It’s why I’m here as a matter of fact. Now lad,” he spoke, looking directly at Gendry. “I’ve delayed Jon long enough, but he figured that wolf of her’s came to fetch you for something important and he’s on his way here to find out what that is.” He warned. 

“That’s good, I need to speak with him.” Arya muttered. “Mya’s told me of the mess he’s in, is it true all the Great Houses know?” She asked.

“Aye, and not all are happy about it.” He further confirmed. “I suspect we’re in for an eventful council.” 

Arya’s eyes lit up at that. 

“I expect so. With any luck our situation might get overlooked.” She plotted, looking right at him. 

Gendry glared towards Ser Davos, knowing just how confused he’s about to be. 

“And uh, what situation might that be, Lady Arya?” He asked. 

“The godswood was on the other side of the Red Keep, should still be intact.” She started, Gendry not believing the words coming out of her mouth. “How soon do you think we can arrange to be married there?”

Davos whirled towards him, having been slowly rising from his position across the bed. 

Gendry could feel the warmth on his cheeks that were surely visible, the hand that Arya wasn’t holding growing increasingly sweaty. 

For all of Arya’s boldness, it only made him love her more. 

Davos flipped his gaze between them, looking up after a time before loudly exhaling. 

“_For fuck’s sake _.”

* * *

Sansa took her seat under the House Stark banner, right in the center of the arch in the dragon pit. Her chair was in between Jon and Bran’s, but she frowned when she realized there wasn’t a spot for her sister. 

“Where’s Arya supposed to sit?” She whispered to Jon, taking another look around at the placement of the chairs. “Surely she’s not lurking at a time like this.”

Most of the seats under each banner had a single chair. Her Uncle Edmure sat by himself under House Tully’s banner, his two advisors standing behind him, her cousin Robyn, Yara Greyjoy, Tyland Lannister, and Elia Martell too.

Sam stood behind his brother, Dickon, who was expected to be offered Highgarden, should they all agree upon it. 

But it was the seating under House Baratheon’s banners that confused Sansa the most. 

Two chairs. 

Jon cleared his throat, directing her attention back towards him.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you before you insisted we get on with the meeting.” He murmured, making sure not to speak too loudly. 

Sansa held her head high at that, she didn’t want to spend any more time than was necessary in this city. King’s Landing was a place she’d hoped to never see again, only under certain circumstances. Cersei’s execution would’ve been one of the exceptions, but as the god’s would have it, she died in the arms of her brother and before no one. 

They’d only arrived an hour or so ago, having ensured to be well-rested enough to begin the council straight away. 

Just as she was to reply, she noticed Gendry’s large form walking through the pathway towards his seat. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she saw who was accompanying him. 

_ Arya _. 

That was most definitely her sister walking behind Gendry, and behind _ her _, was Nymeria? 

Sansa gasped, not having seen her sister’s direwolf since she bit Joffrey on the King’s Road.

A lifetime ago, she thought sadly, remembering her own direwolf that was lost that day. 

Her surprise at the sight before her escalated further when Arya sat down to occupy the second seat alongside Gendry under House Baratheon’s banner, Nymeria laying at their feet. 

Sansa turned towards Bran, her mouth open but not being able to settle on the words. 

“You’ll understand in a few moments.” Was all he said, irritatingly cryptic as always. 

Sansa huffed, hoping to catch her sister’s gaze, but growing frustrated when she only had eyes for the man beside her. 

The sound of chains rattling diverted everyone’s attention towards the center of the dragon pit where Greyworm was guiding Tyrion onto the platform. Her frustration at the sight of Tyrion grew by the second. When she’d advised him against trusting Daenerys, this wasn’t what she intended for him to do. 

Ser Davos moved from his spot behind their seats to join Greyworm in the middle.

“We’ve gathered this council here to determine the fate of Tyrion Lannister. As well as that of the Seven Kingdoms.” He began, not managing to look Tyrion in the eye. “First thing’s first, those of us who have been in the city since it fell, have agreed upon offering Highgarden and the title Lord Paramount of the Reach, to Dickon of House Tarly.” He proposed, gesturing towards the large man towards the far side of the pit. 

Tyland Lannister scoffed, shaking his head profusely, indicating he’d made no such agreement. 

“Per the arrangement made with my cousins Jamie and Tyrion, Highgarden was to go to Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.” He argued. 

“The sell-sword in Cersei Lannister’s employ?” Elia Martell questioned, a girl of ten and three, but strong. 

“As I recall, he was employed originally by Lord Tyrion, and then by Ser Jamie.” Brienne spoke from her spot behind her, her voice faltering just a bit at the mention of Jamie. 

“So a Lannister dog.” Her Uncle said promptly, having developed a stronger voice since she’d last heard of him. 

“Cersei Lannister took out a substantial line of credit with the Iron Bank of Braavos to fund her use of the Golden Company. In exchange for House Lannister keeping the Westerlands, Ser Davos, Lord Baratheon and myself, offered for them to take full-responsibility of that debt, instead of it being the Crown’s debt.” Jon revealed. 

Sansa nodded, thinking it a wise compromise.

“I believe, that by attempting to secure a Lord of the Reach of his own choosing, he’s doing it under a trade agreement. The Reach is the most harvested land in all of Westeros, the food they provide at times like these will provide an immeasurable amount of funds. It is our advice, that we not give Lord Lannister the satisfaction.” 

“Agreed.” Her Uncle said strongly, nodding along with everyone else. 

Ser Davos glanced warily around them, specifically at Tyland who was fuming in his seat.

“Are we in agreement then, to appoint Dickon Tarly as Lord of Highgarden?” He asked again.

A chorus of “aye’s” sounded around the pit. 

Greyworm took opportunity of the silence that followed the agreement to make his move.

“The Unsullied demand justice for our Queen.” He spoke, a clear rage to his tone. 

“My cousin has done a great service to all of Westeros, killing that Mad Queen, look at what she did to this city.” Tyland spoke again, far angrier than a few moments ago. 

Greyworm seethed at his words, his hand twitching by the blade strapped to his waist. 

“I want to inquire what it is Jon Snow was doing while Daenerys Targaryen was murdered?” Yara said, shifting her gaze towards him.

Sansa froze, turning towards her brother. 

Jon sat frustrated beside her, his hands clenched tight. 

“I was sworn to Daenerys just as you were.” He said, dangerously calm. 

“And yet where were you?” She prodded. “The way I see it, he’s set to make off spectacularly because of her death. Am I supposed to sit here and pretend that we didn’t all receive the same raven? Daenerys is dead and he’s conveniently around as the rightful heir? I say we give them _ both _ to the Unsullied so they get what they deserve.” 

It was Arya who spoke next. 

“Say another word about killing my brother and I’ll cut your throat.” She threatened with ease. 

Yara flinched in her seat at her sister’s boldness. 

Sansa breathed slowly, making no sudden movements. Looking towards her sister again, she looked on in confusion at Gendry grasping her clenched hand tightly in his. His face was close to hers, whispering something into her ear. 

But Yara wouldn’t back down.

“And what about you, Lord Baratheon? You sit where you do because of a lordship Daenerys Targaryen granted to you, where were you when our Queen was murdered?” She continued, only managing to irritate Arya further. 

Nymeria stood from her place at Arya and Gendry’s feet and growled. Arya moved to get up before Gendry calmly placed his arm out in front of her, whispering to her once more. 

“I suggest you accept that there was only one person responsible for Daenerys’ death, otherwise I won’t hold my wife back a third time.” Gendry said, chest heaving, eyes filled with anger. 

Sansa felt her jaw drop, frantically turning towards Jon who held a miserable expression on his face. 

_ Wife. _

She struggled to wrap her head around that information, dropped so cavalierly in a setting like this. Her sister, _ married _ to someone she was unaware that Arya even knew.

Sansa caught the gaze of her uncle and cousin to her left, shrugging when they looked at her with faces that undoubtedly looked as confused as hers did. 

Nobody else around them seemed particularly interested in that information, not even Yara who’d backed down considerably once Nymeria’s growls had settled. 

It was hard to focus on anything else in the council after that, she found that the rest of the meeting surpassed her in a bit of a fog. 

Even when Jon _ was _ named King of the Seven Kingdom’s, and they voted to put Tyrion to his death, a fate that absolutely no one could’ve saved him from, she found that her mind wasn’t entirely present.

She spent a great deal of the rest of the meeting staring at Arya and Gendry. 

Arya’s form was tense, and Sansa knew that her sister was aware she was being looked at.

Sansa took in their appearance together, they looked strong by each other’s side, Nymeria at their feet, they looked dangerous. 

It wasn’t until then that she noticed the change in Arya’s cloak. No longer was it the pale gray wool for House Stark, in it’s place her cloak was now black---for House Baratheon.

To know that Arya was so devoted to someone, so willing to change something about her appearance in his honor, gave her a sense of joy.

Shifting her gaze towards Gendry she could no longer hold back a smirk when she noticed that he put as much effort with his own wardrobe, if not more. The claw marks sewn onto the sides of his leathers near his neck weren’t subtle. Claw marks were an interesting decoration for someone’s clothing when their sigil was a stag. 

She looked at the marks then down at Nymeria, the significance plainly laid out for everyone to see, and refrained from giggling out loud. Her sister had always been possessive. 

Having kept an ear tuned to the conversation, she placed a comforting grip on Jon’s arms when everyone stood to bow as they left. 

She knew he didn’t want this, any of it, but she also knew in her heart that he’d be good at it. The entire realm would benefit from his leadership, that much she was sure of. 

They were the last ones in the dragon pit at the end of it, and she remained in her seat till anyone who wasn’t related to her, had left. 

Arya had the good sense to at least look a little bashful as she approached her, Gendry and Nymeria right behind her. 

“_Arya _.” She acknowledged, already tried from a conversation that hadn’t even begun. 

“Well, get on with it.” Her younger sister joked. 

“I---when? Why?” She asked all at once, noticing the nervous look on Gendry’s face. 

“A fortnight ago, here in King’s Landing, and because I love him.” She replied easily, a smile decorating her face that she’d never seen before. 

Sansa leaned back in her chair, almost not recognizing the sibling before her. 

Looking towards Jon again, she cracked a smile at the pained expression he had. 

“I take it you were there?” She realized. 

“Who else would’ve given me away?” Her sister replied simply. 

Sansa groaned, smoothing out the skirt of her dress before standing up. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised, you’ve always enjoyed making my life difficult. Now I can’t leave this city as quickly as I’d hoped to.” She said, moving towards Gendry and holding her hand out. “If you’re to remain married to my only sister, I demand to know everything.”

Gendry looked bewildered, a pause in his movements before he held out his elbow for her to grab.

She smiled at that, wrapping both her hands around his arm, letting him guide her away from her siblings. 

“Where would you like me to start, m’lady?” He asked.

“To start with, it’s _ my _lady.” She advised, hoping she didn’t sound the slightest bit rude. 

Gendry nodded.

“There’s a lot you’ll need to learn, but don’t worry, I’ll help you.” She offered. “I’d say you’re in good hands with Arya’s teachings, but someone would have to teach her first.” She jested, looking back towards her siblings that were trailing them at considerable distance. 

Gendry laughed warmly, a truly beautiful smile on his face. 

“I expect Arya will make her own rules, I look forward to it.” He told her. 

Sansa pondered for a moment at his words, both because she knew the truth of them, and because she was inspired by them. 

‘We all can.” She replied, looking back again towards where Jon and Arya walked, pushing Bran’s chair, then at the space between her and Gendry. “Together.” 

Gendry looked at her earnestly, shooting a glance to her siblings, realizing the same thing she had. Every single one of them about to embark on their own roles of leading. 

“Together.” He agreed, whisking her away towards what was left of the Red Keep, every memory he had of Arya causing a brightness to his eyes. 

_ Yes_, she thought happily, _ he’ll do _. 

* * *

“So it’s settled then, we’re to host your siblings once a year?” She heard Gendry ask, one of his arms settling around her waist as she saddled her horse.

Arya turned around, giggling when his face was closer than she was expecting it to be. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, her arms reaching up to settle on his shoulders.

She looked back to where her brothers and sister stood, having just said her tearful goodbyes to them. 

“Yes.” She replied promptly. “Jon will bring Bran with him, and Sansa will ride down from the North.”

Bran had offered to stay in King’s Landing with Jon, as both his brother and as his Master of Whispers. It was a great relief to her to hear it. 

Three Starks will be trying their luck to change the age-old belief that Starks don’t do well in the South, but having Bran’s guidance was sure to help. 

“Well, we’ll be delighted to have em.” He told her.

Arya cocked an eyebrow. 

“_Delighted _, eh?” She said, never one to pass up an opportunity to jab at him a little. “Sansa’s taught you well.”

Gendry chuckled, pinching her sides, smiling when she squirmed. 

“You sound like a proper lord now.” 

“I’ll believe that when I hear it.” Mya’s voice cut in, a grunt following as she swung her leg over her saddle. 

Arya smiled at her good-sister, having grown comfortably used to her presence. 

“You won’t.” Arya said. “Not if we have anything to say about it.”

Gendry let out a groan that sounded far more like a whine. 

“_Gods _, the two of you will be the death of me.” He told them, the smirk on his face giving away how amused he was by their antics. 

“We have the entire journey home to try.” Arya joked, a warmth in her chest that she welcomed. 

She didn’t take her eyes off Gendry as they mounted their own horses, a truly smitten look on his face at her words. 

“Nymeria,” he called out, the wolf turned from where she stood in between their horses towards him, giving him her undivided attention. “Lead the way.”

Arya smiled at that, feeling whole for the first time since she last left this city.

_ Those bloody god’s_, she thought, a soft laugh escaping her---cruel as they come.

* * *

Sansa watched Arya and Gendry ride off, Nymeria and Mya leading the way to the Baratheon forces marching back to the Stormlands. 

_ Arya’s new home. _

And the place she and her siblings would meet once a year. All four of them have been separated for far too long that remaining apart for the rest of their days was simply not an option. 

Her gaze at Jon softened when she saw him wipe a tear from his eye, watching his favorite person in the world leave.

“We’ll see her again, Jon.” She reassured him.

“Some years more than others.” Bran said, leaving both her and Jon confused.

“What do you mean?” She asked cautiously, afraid of his answer. 

“I mean,” he started. “That some years we’ll visit to see her daughters, in addition to our annual visits.” He revealed, a genuine smile on his face. 

Sansa’s mouth gaped.

“Daughters?” Jon asked wondrously. 

Bran nodded.

“Three.” He confirmed. 

Sansa looked out in the direction her sister set off in, a true sense of wonder settling in her stomach. 

She remembered what her sister had said to them in the godswood back in Winterfell.

_ We’re the last of the Starks. _

No, Sansa realized happily, they’re not. 

**Author's Note:**

> *pterodactyl screech*
> 
> I don't even know what this is, ya'll. This was supposed to be for day two of A x G week, and I'm legit a whole week late, but hear me out. This was intended to be like 2.5k tops, and somehow it's 9.6k??? Cool, cool, cool. 
> 
> Lemme have a moment here for literally everything that I changed, cause whooo-whee was it a lot. Yeah so Dickon is still alive here, solely so I didn't have to give Highgarden to Bronn, cause fuck that. I conjured up a new Lannister out of thin air because who's in charge of the Westerlands? D&D sure af didn't tell us. Idk who tf that Dornish Prince was but Oberyn has like five daughters still alive, so we're not using him. 
> 
> Arya's use of the "that's not me" in S8 is hereby revoked, because I used it differently and I regret nothing. The Stark's willingly separating for good after I spent five season's in agony waiting for them to reunite? Not in this fic. 
> 
> Yara was done so dirty being pitted against Arya when they'd admire tf out of each other, so I apologize PROFUSELY for keeping that up here, but it kinda served the purpose in the fic. I'll repent for it, I promise. 
> 
> Yeah, I had Tyrion be the one to kill Daenerys in this, cause that's just what makes sense for me. It was his whole ass idea to do it, but he ends the series as hand of the king? I mean, sure pal. 
> 
> I will almost always find some way to bring Nymeria back into the fold. 
> 
> The fact that Arya didn't have this super lengthy talk with literally anyone about how she ended up where she did, and why. I'm---D&D got me fucked tf up. So I fleshed it out a bit here, and understood if the reasons I gave her to vocalize don't vibe with you, I totally get it. It's just how I interpreted her narrative, and I feel like she should've gotten to talk about it. 
> 
> I left all the Seven Kingdom's as Seven Kingdom's cause realistically I don't think the North would've received independence without objection from Yara, as well as Dorne, and I just got lazy and opted not to write that argument. 
> 
> A side note, if anyone's interested in another one-shot set after this one, detailing the birth of Arya and Gendry's daughters, and her siblings' visits, do let me know, cause I could be convinced. If you read my last one-shot about these two, the three daughters would likely be the same as they are there, but far more fleshed out. Lemme know, ya'll. Thank you so much for reading! Visit me over on my tumblr klarolinedrabbles to chat, if you'd like, I chat quite a bit there, haha.


End file.
